


I'll Tell You Today

by LucRambles



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, and felix doesn't know how to handle his feelings, it's only mentioned tho, sylvain gets hurt and felix is sad for a while, well kinda angsty i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 18:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20728625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucRambles/pseuds/LucRambles
Summary: “Love does funny things to you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper."What?”“Love, Felix. It does funny things to you. It makes you a little stupid. Or a lot stupid.”Felix feels his face flush. “W-what?!"Sylvain nearly dies in battle; Felix is a wreck.Sylvain decides to reveal some feelings. Felix is too afraid to face his own.





	I'll Tell You Today

**Author's Note:**

> heyo so i wrote this like 2 weeks ago but i wasn't satisfied with it so i held onto it to try to edit but this is as good as we're getting rn so I'm just gonna throw this into the sylvix tag
> 
> Prompt: "I wish I didn't love you so much."

Battles were never easy. Even those “easily won” came at a price. Everyone dies in some way, whether they lie on the ground in a pool of their own blood or had cut another down while trying to cling to their waning humanity. The life of a warrior was not an easy one. It never had been, and never would be.

Felix learned this a long time ago. A young boy taught to hold a sword before a quill. Taught how to hurt people—to kill them—before anything else, already learning to devote his life to taking others’.

Then he lost his brother—nothing came back but his armor, and the spur from his knighting ceremony. _“He died like a true night,”_ his father had said, and Felix never forgave him for it. Speaking as if he didn’t care that his oldest son had died, cut down in the prime of his life in such an ugly way—but it was okay because he died _in the right way._ The noble shield of Faerghus seemed so _proud _of his dead son, almost more so than when he’d been alive. Felix decided then that his dreams of knighthood died with his brother. Dying was not something to strive for, a goal to be reached, as opposed to _literally_ _anything_ _else_ one could do with their life. The young swordsman swore he would never do something so stupid as die for someone else, nor would he ever let anyone die for him.

The next conversation he had with his father wasn’t pleasant—Felix nearly bit the man’s head off for suggesting he might have taken Glenn’s spur, which was supposed to be buried with the armor. “Why would I take it?” Felix spat. “Why would I want some stupid symbol of _knighthood,_ of the damn thing that killed him.” Rodrigue let the matter drop and pretended he didn’t see the outline of an item in Felix’s pocket. A suit of armor and a spur—it was all he had left.

Two years passed and Felix lost one of his best friends. Or perhaps he was already gone—lost in the slaughter in Duscur like Glenn. He watched as Dimitri, crown prince of Faerghus, become a monster. An animal. He watched the young man cut his way through the battlefield, covered in the blood of countless fallen soldiers. Felix caught a glimpse of Dimitri’s face through the carnage. It seemed the animal was loving every moment.

His time at Garreg Mach Monastery took more from him. The professor disappeared after the battle at the Monastery. The Boar Prince snapped completely, and any trace of his old self was gone, consumed by the beast he was. Edelgard declared war on the Kingdom and the Church and took his Black Eagles friends with her (he worried about Bernadetta especially, but he would never admit it). Those from the Alliance left as well (no way he missed Lysithea and her cakes). Felix and his friends were forced to return home as well, needed to defend their borders from the Imperial threat. The Boar returned to Fhirdiad and lost his head, and his dog probably did as well. Ingrid, Ashe, and Annette returned to their homes to fight. Mercedes traveled to help in her own way, and they lost track of her for a while. And Sylvain—

Felix tried not to think about Sylvain. Not because he didn’t care—it was exactly the opposite. Felix cared too much and he didn’t know why. They had been close friends since childhood, but he’d been friends with Ingrid and Dimitri too. He cared about them of course (although he wouldn’t admit to caring about Dimitri. Damn boar), but Sylvain was different.

The future Margrave had returned to Gautier territory. He took up his relic in defense of the northern border, driving away invaders from the north while keeping the Empire’s expansion at bay.

Felix feared for him every day. There was no denying Sylvain’s skill, and his relic was powerful, but anything can happen in battle. The difference between life and death is one wrong move, one second of lost focus, one wrong step, one wrong swing, one moment of just pure bad luck.

Five more years and the losses continued to pile up. They lost less of their own when the professor returned, but that was when they began cutting down their old classmates. At the Great Bridge of Myrddin, Felix cut down Ferdinand, an old sparring partner who was more skilled than Felix cared to admit. Unfortunately for Ferdinand, he was still using his old tricks—ones Felix knew well. He used the extra height his horse gave him to his advantage, along with the extra reach from his lance. Felix was a swordsman, an expert and fighting up-close and personal, and his grappling skills were nothing to sneeze at. All he needed to do was dodge the first few strikes from his lance and he was past Ferdinand’s defenses. Sharp steel cut through him like butter, nothing compared to bruises from a wooden sword. Felix watched as Ferdinand von Aegir fell from his horse, watched the life flow out of him, watched his eyes glaze over and his breathing stop. A life for a life, as it always was.

A life for a life. A heavy burden to bear when you’re the one left behind.

A life for a life—Glenn dying for The Boar. Nameless, faceless soldiers dying so he and his friends could live. Old classmates, old _friends_, dying so he could live. A young girl from the Empire cut down for that _damn Boar_ and—

Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, shield of Faerghus, cut down in front of them all, blocking a killing blow meant for The Boar. Dimitri returned in exchange—Dimitri, the human, the boy Felix knew as a child. But Felix could hardly bring himself to care. His father was dead, same as his brother. As furious as Felix had been the last ten years, he never truly hated the man. He never thought he would lose him so soon, and certainly not like that.

If Felix cried, no one saw. But someone may have heard him while passing by his room. The next day, Sylvain had offered to be Felix’s punching bag to let him blow off some steam (well, he offered to spar with Felix, no holds barred, so it was the same thing, really. Sylvain grew very close to Mercedes that week).

Felix nearly added himself to the body count two moons later. In Derdriu, Dimitri’s army off to help Claude and the Alliance. Byleth sent Felix to flank one side, along with Sylvain and Ashe. The three worked in sync; Sylvain drawing them in, and Felix cutting them down up close, and Ashe picking more off from further back. It was as if they shared one mind, a perfect well-oiled machine.

One mistake is all it takes.

In battle, anything can happen. Anyone can die.

Someone shouted, but Felix didn’t register it until after he was knocked to the ground, his vision full of red. The impact knocked all the air from his lungs and scrambled his brain, throwing his senses off. The swordsman felt like he couldn’t breathe, as if the very air itself was being dragged out of his lungs and forbidden to return. All he could see was red, red, red.

He wanted to shout. He wanted to yell and scream and cry out but couldn’t find his voice. But Felix had never been one to express himself through words. Felix was a man driven by action; a person’s deeds spoke more than words ever could. He rolled to his knees, gasping, as he forced his vision to focus. As he tried to ignore the ringing in his ears. As he forced his body to move, to hold together, because _he won’t let—_

Felix saw red, red, red, as he dragged himself to his feet and drew his sword, as he gasped for breath and forced air back into his lungs. Red as he flew forward, running faster than he ever had in his life. Red as his sword cleaved through the neck of an enemy soldier. Red as their head rolled across the pavement. Red as he cut down the rest surrounding them. Red with blood. Red with rage. Red as the bloody sunset above them and the blood-soaked streets below.

He saw red when he fell to his knees beside a body. Red leggings beneath black armor. Red blood pooling out from a break in the metal, where a weapon stained itself red as it broke through and pierced the flesh beneath. Red hair, bright red curls caked in red blood and dirt framing his face. Felix’s rage began to ebb, replaced by panic. No, no, no, _no, no, no._

“What the hell were you _thinking_ you _idiot,_” Felix rasped, finally finding his voice.

He didn’t expect Sylvain to crack a smile, red trailing a line down his face from the corner of his mouth. “What does it look like? I was saving you, heh.” Sylvain chuckled, but it was forced.

“Stop talking,” Felix growled, ignoring the fact that he had asked Sylvain a question in the first place. “Save your strength.” He shouted for Mercedes, for Marianne, for Annette or Lysithea or Dorothea or Byleth or _anyone who knew some goddessdamn healing magic. _He didn’t even notice that Ashe had disappeared—already hunting down Mercedes, who arrived within moments.

Felix doesn’t remember much after that. A flash of Ashe and Mercedes carrying Sylvain away. A flash of Byleth’s voice, telling him to continue on and diverting a few other soldiers his way. A flash of taking a blow to his side and making the one who dealt it regret the day they left the womb. A flash of brutally cutting down anyone who stood in his way, no mercy spared. A flash of fear on his friend’s faces afterward. They looked at him the way he had looked at Dimitri seven years ago. Felix was too out of it to care.

His mind reawakens outside the infirmary, after the battle. Ashe is explaining what happened—a lancer was coming for Felix. The swordsman had just finished dealing with a group of enemies and didn’t notice them coming. Ashe was focused on picking off a group of snipers who had just arrived before they could cause trouble. Sylvain was the only one who saw. The only one who saw the killing blow aimed at Felix, ready to strike true. And so, Sylvain reacted. He body-slammed Felix full force to knocked him out of the way. The paladin had lost his lance earlier on and drew his sword to block the blow, but his aim was off, and the lance crashed through his defenses. The weapon found a break in his armor and pushed through. 

And Sylvain fell.

_Stupid,_ is all Felix can think. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. _Sylvain is stupid for jumping in front of him like that, for taking the blow for him. Felix is the one who wasn’t paying attention, he was the one being attacked. He’s the one who should be lying on his deathbed, if not left in the streets with the rest of the corpses. _I wasn’t strong enough,_ Felix thinks. _He’s dying because of me. _Both of them are dangerously close to breaking half a dozen promises.

Mercedes and Manuela won’t let Felix in to see him. Actually, it’s Lysithea who keeps him out—the other two are too busy with Sylvain. The paladin is in critical condition, they said. He needs immediate attention. Something, something vital organs were pierced, lots of internal bleeding, lot of blood lost before they were able to attend to him, on top of other non-related injuries. No visitors, no distractions. But Felix is stubborn as a mule with a one-track mind and tries to push through. It’s not until Lysithea flings him back a good fifteen feet with wind magic (and the threat the next time it will be fire, and she won’t hold back) that he relents. He storms off to the training grounds in their basecamp. They aren’t as good as the ones at Garreg Mach, but there are dummies to hit and that is enough for Felix. He doesn’t leave until Byleth finds him there, training well into the night, still covered in blood and sweat and dirt from the battle, body numb from exertion. They talk him into at least bathing and changing clothes. Afterward, Felix’s exhaustion finally catches up to him, leaving him passive enough for Byleth to get him into bed.

He wakes at dawn the next morning and doesn’t even bother changing clothes or tying back his hair before going to the infirmary. Mercedes is the only one awake. Marianne and Manuela are asleep in a pair of chairs, the fronts of their outfits stained in blood. Mercedes seems weary but smiles at Felix. “Good morning Fe—”

“Where is he,” Felix growls.

Mercedes doesn’t react to the aggression. She never does. “He’s in the other room. He’s stable now. A lot of rest and he should be fine.”

Felix walks to the door on the far end of the room before she finishes speaking. Mercedes grabs his wrist before he gets very far. He instinctively pulls away—he doesn’t like being touched to begin with, even less so when he’s riled up. “No visitors yet, Felix,” she says calmly. “We can’t stress him out, or it will take longer for him to recover. He isn’t even awake yet—his body needs the extra rest; it will help him heal faster.”

Felix tries to shove past her, but Mercedes can be just as stubborn as him, and eventually convinces him to leave. Felix spends the rest of the day at the training grounds, beating dummy after dummy into a pulp of fabric and stuffing. He spends the next day there as well, and the one after that. He barely eats or sleeps. The others bring him food, but he can only stomach a mouthful or two before wanting to retch. He catches a couple hours of sleep on the floor when he collapses. But he gets right back up when he awakens. Over and over again until a week later—until the day Sylvain wakes up.

It’s Dimitri, of all people, who tells him the news. Good thing he’s quick for his size—the moment Felix hears Dimitri’s voice he turns on a heel and flings his training sword at him. Dimitri jumps to the side in time and the wooden weapon clatters to the ground behind him. “Sylvain is awake,” the blonde says. “I thought you would want to know.”

Felix runs to the infirmary—though he’d deny it if you said so. It’s not like he’s _worried_ about that womanizing idiot. But Felix runs, and takes the stairs two at a time until he skids to a stop in the doorway to the infirmary. Mercedes and Manuela smile, already expecting him. “Sylvain is awake, he can have visitors now,” Mercedes says, but Felix is already halfway to the door. He yanks it open and damn near flings himself at Sylvain (to smack him for being _so fucking stupid,_ he would say. He totally doesn’t want to hug him or anything. Physical affection? Disgusting).

Sylvain is leaning against a pile of pillows against the headboard of the bed. His lower half is covered by a blanket, and his upper half is bare except for the stained bandages wrapped around his abdomen. “What took you so long,” he quips, but his voice is still weak.

Felix takes a seat in the chair beside the bed. He scowls at Sylvain, but the redhead can see the fear in his friend’s eyes. “You _idiot,_” the swordsman growls. “What were you _thinking?!”_

“I was thinking you were going to die if I didn’t do something,” Sylvain answers. “I didn’t even think, really. I just reacted.”

“You’re a damned fool,” Felix snaps. “You could have died from this! You could have _died,_ Sylvain. And for what? For me? For some stupid oh-so-noble ‘I died saving someone’ idea?! How stupid can you _be?!”_ Felix would have hit him if he wasn’t afraid of opening the wound.

Sylvain doesn’t answer for a moment. The silence stretches on and on, making seconds feel like hours. Sylvain finally takes a deep breath and looks down. “Love does funny things to you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Felix is sure he misheard him. “What?”

Sylvain chuckles in that self-deprecating way he does when he talks about himself (when he’s not flirting, anyway). “Love, Felix. It does funny things to you. It makes you a little stupid. Or a lot stupid.” He doesn’t look up.

Felix feels his face flush. “W-_what?”_

“I know words aren’t your strong suit, but I know you can say more than that.”

Felix slams his head down on the side of the bed, hiding his face and gripping the blanket in his fists. He needs something to hold on to, or else he’s sure he’s going to lose it. But he doesn’t know in what way. He hears Sylvain chuckle again.

“Nearly dying does things to you too,” Sylvain says. “It makes you think about all the things you never said.”

“Shut up,” Felix says, voice muffled by the blankets.

Sylvain continues as if he hasn’t spoken. “It makes you realize that you really could die without saying it, that there isn’t always tomorrow. So sometimes you have to say it today.”

“Shut up.”

“Felix, I lo—”

_“Shut up!” _Felix snaps and picks his head up. “Don’t say it, Sylvain, don’t _fucking _say it.”

Sylvain looks at him, surprise and confusion clear in those brown puppy dog eyes. Felix wants to <strike>kiss</strike> punch him. His heart feels like it’s going to break out of his chest and his stomach is churning. His mind is racing to put words to all the feelings he hasn’t figured out—feelings he doesn’t _want_ to figure out. Because then things will change between them. Thing will be _different._ Felix will have to admit he cares, Felix will have to let himself be _vulnerable._ He can never let that happen. He can’t afford to be soft, to be open. He is a warrior to his core. His sword is an extension of his body, the battlefield is his home. He is the next (current?) Duke Fraldarius—the shield of Faerghus. He is a protector. A shield can’t be soft. A shield can’t be weak. He can’t have any distractions. He had to mold himself into the perfect warrior, capable of cutting down anyone who dares strike at him or those he cares about. He won’t let anyone else die, he won’t watch anyone else he <strike>loves</strike> cares about die because he’s not strong enough to save them. He can’t afford to be weak.

Felix is glaring at Sylvain, jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists on the blanket. He tries to channel all the rage he’s ever felt, staring his old friend down, trying to make him _stop talking, _forget about what he’s going to say and leave it at that_._ But Sylvain doesn’t fall for it, he knows him too well. He can see the fear in Felix’s eyes, no matter how much he tries to cover it. Sylvain knows Felix uses anger to hide whatever else he might be feeling. Particularly fear. Especially fear.

“I love you, Felix,” he says before Felix can cut him off again. “I’ve loved you for a long time and I was too afraid of ruining what we had to say anything. But after the last battle, I can’t hide it anymore. I love you, okay? I love you Felix.”

Felix slams his head down on the blanket again, biting the cloth and letting out a muffled yell of frustration. Sylvain reaches out to touch his hand and Felix leaps back, off the bed and out of the chair, as if he’s been burned. He actually _hisses,_ like a damn cat, at the touch. Sylvain begins to regret saying anything, but it’s too late to go back.

Felix takes a moment to compose himself (a wasted moment, no way he can calm down after _that_) before speaking. “You idiot,” he says, but there’s no bite to his words. “You just changed everything.”

“Look, it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I understand if—”

_“That’s the problem, stupid,”_ Felix snaps. “I wish I didn’t love you so much.”

The room falls silent at that. The tension in the room is palpable, so thick you could slice it with a knife. Neither man moves. Sylvain stops breathing for a moment. Felix feels his face grow hot as he realizes what he just said. That was… not the most eloquent way he could have phrased it.

It’s Sylvain who breaks the silence first, with that self-deprecating chuckle. “I think that hurts more than if you just didn’t love me back.” He slides down in the bed to lie down, adjusting the pillows as he moves. He tries not to wince when his wound pulls. “But that’s okay, I guess. It’s all out in the open now.”

“Idiot,” Felix says again.

“Does loving me really upset you so much?” Sylvain asks, against his better judgment. He wants to hear exactly why Felix wishes he didn’t love him. Shatter his heart—maybe then he can let go. He always knew love was a lost cause for someone like him.

Felix doesn’t know what to say. A million thoughts are racing through his mind and he can’t put words to a single one of them.

Does he love Sylvain? And he realizes that yes, he does. He’s loved Sylvain for years. He remembers every flutter of his heart when Sylvain would wrap his arm around his shoulders, or when they would practice grappling together. He remembers an odd need to push himself harder while Sylvain was watching. The strange feeling in his chest on the rare occasion Sylvain would win a sparring match, disarming Felix and pinning him to the floor of the training grounds. The spikes of jealousy when Sylvain would talk about his new fling. All the fear he felt while they were separated, fearing every day he would hear “The Gautier heir has fallen.” Why he always looked for Sylvain on the battlefield—wondering when his “I fight like I want to die” mentality would finally come back to bite him. Why, despite his promise to never die for anyone, he couldn’t help but protect Sylvain in battle.

Felix loves Sylvain, and he can’t lie to himself anymore.

“I…” Felix tries to speak. He knows what he wants to say—does he? There’s a concept in his head, but hell if he has the words to convey it—but he can’t seem to make his voice work. “I—I need a moment,” he says, avoiding eye contact. “Words… aren’t my strong suit.”

That gets a chuckle from Sylvain. “Take your time.”

He takes a deep breath. “I… I feel the same way… but…” _I love you,_ he thinks, but can’t force the words out. _I can’t love you._

“But…?”

“I can’t,” Felix finally says, so quietly Sylvain almost doesn’t hear him.

“You can’t?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because... because—”

“Felix. Look at me.”

He can’t. He hates making eye contact to begin with, even more so when something like _this_ is happening. But he glances at Sylvain from the corner of his eye. The paladin is sitting up again, leaning toward Felix with one hand propping himself up on the edge of the bed. Felix can’t see Sylvain’s face, but he knows those soft brown eyes are pleading, like a puppy who wants a treat. A gaze Felix has been subjected to countless times, and one he always gives in to.

“Felix, look at me.”

He turns his head slightly, but keeps his gaze fixed on the ground.

“Whatever it is we can work through it.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because we can’t!” Felix snaps, whipping his gaze up. “We _can’t,_ Sylvain, we _can’t,_ and it’s all because of me, okay? I can’t let myself feel like this. It’s a distraction. It makes you do things like what you did. Like my brother did, like my father did, like Di—the B—like Dimitri did. And it _hurts_ Sylvain, it fucking hurts. I don’t know what I would have done if this killed you. I—I blacked out when I saw you on the ground like that. And knowing it was because of _me?_ You don’t know how much worse I felt. I can’t let things like that keep happening.

“People die. People are always dying. But I’m the next Duke Fraldarius. I have to take up my father’s position as Faerghus’ Shield. I need to protect people; I can’t let myself break. I can’t let my emotions take over. I can’t let myself l—lo—I can’t let myself care about you this way. I’m, I’m, I’m s-s—I’m sorry, but I can’t. I can’t do it, Sylvain.” _I’m afraid to,_ he thinks.

A long, long silence follows. Both men trying to understand what Felix just said. The swordsman suddenly feels naked, exposed. _Why _did he just say all that? _How_ could he have just said all that? He hasn’t felt this vulnerable, this _scared,_ since he was a child. Since before Glenn died.

Sylvain takes it all in. He knows, of course, that Felix isn’t one for showing emotion. He knows that Felix tends to feel too much—he remembers the crybaby he used to know, who wore his heart on his sleeve and never seemed to feel anything halfway. And he knows, no matter how much Felix tries to cover it up, that he still feels as intensely as he did back then—he’s just much better at hiding it. For Felix to spill like this, to open up like this, to allow himself a moment of vulnerability (even if he didn’t realize it until the deed was done), his feelings must be strong, and bottled up for far too long.

Felix is too afraid to speak, anxiety growing the longer the silence stretches on. _Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ he berates himself. He can’t stand feeling so open, he can’t stand the way Sylvain is looking at him. The mixture of surprise and sadness and _pity_ in his eyes. He wants to take it all back, throw some cruel jab at Sylvain instead and leave, but he can’t make himself do it. He’ll never be able to face Sylvain again if he hurts him like that. He wishes he were free of these feelings—but he’d never wish to be free of Sylvain.

Sylvain can sense his friend’s anxiety, but he can’t react too quickly. He can’t react _the wrong way._ He’ll scare Felix off. His defenses are down—a rare and incredible sight—but one wrong word will send them back up and that will be the end of that. Felix will never let him speak of it again. They’ll pretend this never happened.

Minutes or hours later neither could say, but finally Sylvain speaks. “You can’t bury these feelings forever, Felix.”

His eyes narrow. A wall goes back up. _Shit._ “I’ve been burying feelings for years. I have to, Sylvain.”

“You’re afraid of getting hurt again.”

Felix drops his gaze again and crosses his arms tightly across his chest. The wall is back down. Felix pretends it isn’t. “You’ll break if you get hurt too many times. We all saw what happened to D—to The Boar. I refuse to let that happen to me.” _You didn’t see the way they looked at me,_ Felix thinks. _For a moment, it did._

“Love won’t turn you into a monster, Felix. Getting hurt sucks, it fucking sucks, okay? We all know that. But that’s why we’re here for each other. You can’t go through life hiding yourself from everyone. That’s no way to live. And yeah, maybe love makes you do some stupid things, but it drives you to fight harder too. Isn’t that one of the reasons you train so much? You don’t want anyone to get hurt, because you care about them. It’s give-and-take, like everything else.”

Felix doesn’t move, so Sylvain continues. “I know you’re scared, but that’s why I’m here. And I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

Felix relaxes slightly, but still won’t meet Sylvain’s gaze.

Sylvain sighs. “Why don’t we make a deal, okay? If I promise not to do something like that again, will you give us a chance? If you decide for some other reason that this won’t work out then that’s okay, I’ll still be your friend for the rest of our lives. What do you say?”

Sylvain holds his hand out. Felix stares for a moment, then slowly relaxes. He unclenches his jaw and lets his arms fall to his sides. He walks back over to the chair beside Sylvain’s bed and sits down. Another beat and Sylvain can’t help but hold his breath. Finally, _finally,_ Felix slowly reaches out and places his hand in Sylvain’s. The paladin holds on tightly.

“I… suppose we can try that,” Felix says. “But you better keep your word. If you die for me, or at all, I’ll bring you back and kill you myself.”

Sylvain laughs, a genuine, bright laugh. “That’s better, you sound like yourself again. I promise, okay? I won’t leave you. Remember the promise we made as kids?”

Felix cracks a smile. “We’ll live together until we die together.”

Sylvain leans down and kisses Felix’s hand. The swordsman looks away, face flushing. He… likes that much more than he cares to admit. “I don’t intend to break that promise,” Sylvain says. “I love you Felix.”

“I… I… Iloveyoutoo,” Felix rushes out, his face flushing bright red.

Sylvain’s smile grows. “So, now that that’s settled, why don’t you climb up here and join me? You look exhausted—the bags under your eyes are worse than usual.”

Felix swats at his head but slides in beside Sylvain anyway. Sylvain throws an arm around him and snuggles into his chest. Normally Felix would pull away from contact like this but… he finds he likes it. He settles in, Sylvain’s head tucked under his chin, and gently lays a hand on the redhead’s hip (he’d prefer his side, but he’s not about to agitate that wound).

For the first time in a long time, Felix and Sylvain sleep peacefully.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
